Endorphin Rush

Waving my arms in the air
love, my love, got no care
no care, no, no, pressing my feet to the ground
stand up right where you stand
call to you and what do you do
laying back in a chair?
she's so high on the air
she's so high on the air...


I've done no work for the past three days. Floating around in the sun, basking in the drunk happy feeling of rediscovering the rush that comes with hearing a deep voice say your name with a smile in their voice.
It's nice not to walk around feeling like rejected goods, as if there is something fundamentally wrong with you. It's nice to have someone else's over-sized sweatshirt for cold auto rides. Anti-feminist connotations aside, it's even nice to be called "babe" every once in a while.

There are so many images and versions floating around out there about what interactions with the opposite sex should be like, that you find yourself trying to straitjacket and label every aspect of an essentially fluid relationship.
To hell with the "Is He The Right One?" , "Where Is Your Relationship Going?", "Does Your Guy Get The Real You?" type Cosmo bullshit.
There is no such thing as the "Right One" (You should be glad to know Plato never did say that crap about "love is finding your other half"). A relationship is not a linear progression towards some particular point. The "Real" me? Don't even get me started on that one. Unless you want to read a 3000 word essay on how the world is an illusion (Jagat Mithya), Brahman is the only truth (Brahman Satya), and you are that (Tatvam - asi).
There are friends and lovers and people who used to belong to those categories and then just became a part of you. Why would you WANT to put them in neatly docketed folders?

Syd Barrett's surreal, magical - yet - laced - with - inanity descriptions from "The Madcap Laughs" do better justice to this winter's sudden warmth. Here's to a great something.